“But he’s hurt, isn’t he?” Tim asked. “A twenty foot fall could have killed him.” Tim took out his pipe, and made to light it, but Lily gave him a pointed look. She only tolerated smoke in a boarder’s own room, or the smoking room. He flashed his gold teeth, and stuck the stem between his lips unlit.
“This is the only photograph that Sarah had of her uncle.” Riot showed the postcard to them, and Tim whistled. “She said he was an escape artist in the circus,” Riot explained for Lily’s benefit. “It’s a profession that requires special skills.”
“Skills like dislocating the shoulder,” Lily said, catching on.
Riot nodded. “He’s now a horse betting man with no sense, and he’s up to his nose in debt.”
He had nothing against gamblers—he’d be the largest hypocrite in the West if he did—but his professional pride drew the line at a bad gambler.
Lily considered the photograph. “And you’re wondering if you should look into the matter more?”
Riot gave a slight nod. “I don’t know what would be best for her. An uncle who is a con man, or no kin at all.”
The statement was answered with silence as both adults pondered the conundrum that had plagued him since he met Walker. It wasn’t his affair. He had no proof, only suspicions—all easily confirmed if he decided to poke his nose further into Walker’s business. And if Riot’s instincts were correct, this wasn’t the first time Lee Walker had feigned an injury. His bank book had shown a large deposit—money that Walker had burned through.
From the moment he engaged her at the ferry building, she had become his responsibility, and Sarah Byrne’s future now rested on his shoulders. That didn’t set well with him; Riot had enough blood on his hands to give him pause in deciding her fate.
“For what it’s worth, he had a room prepared for her. It was clean and warm, in a fine house.”
“The bast—scoundrel,” Tim corrected hastily, “left her waiting at the ferry building in the rain. She might have been snatched.”
“I’d say pneumonia was more likely,” Lily said. “Have you told her about your suspicions?”
Riot shook his head. “She’s terrified of being an orphan. That fear drove her clear across the country alone. If he’s arrested, she’ll go to an orphanage.”
“Well, she’s been asking after him,” Lily said. “Wants to visit him in the hospital, and if you ask me, she’s the type of child who will go with or without you.”
She was right. But Riot knew beyond a doubt that Walker would have a mob of reporters waiting to write down every word.
Tim poked his boot at the dirt. “You weren’t hired to investigate the fellow.”
“There’s the temptation,” Riot said with a quirk of his lips. “We could stop right here. All I have is a suspicion.”
“There might be more to the man. More than him just being a con man,” Tim said.
“There could be,” he agreed. “I hate to pass this off to you, but Smith and Monty are tied up with other matters, and I have business of my own.” Tim didn’t need an explanation; he well knew that Riot’s business involved a certain cross-dressing young woman.
“I’ll poke into his past. Shouldn’t be difficult.” Tim scratched at his beard. “I’m… uhm, still searching for Walker’s sure-fire horseman named Freddy.”
“You haven’t found him yet?” Riot asked with feigned surprise.
“I’m getting old, boy. Don’t push it.”
“Mr. Riot?”
He looked expectantly at Lily. She clipped a dead bulb from the stem, and placed it in a pot as she chose her words. She was a graceful woman in everything she did, and there was a kind of magic to her movements that slowed down even the most hurried mind.
“Sarah’s a bright one,” she explained. “Children are more perceptive than most adults give them credit for. Maybe she won’t much care for her kin, and all this might come out in the courts anyhow. Some battles aren’t our own.”
“I won’t leave a child to fight alone.”
Lily smiled, displaying two dimples. “I think you have your answer, then.”
26
The Snitch
Lee Walker’s eyes lit up when his niece walked into the infirmary. “The spitting image of my sister,” he breathed.
It might have been a touching reunion if not for the mob of eager reporters. Walker stretched out a hand, and winced, falling back into his pillows. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Sarah.”
Sarah stared at his weak, reaching hand, and then at his face. She stood beside Riot, rooted in place.
Walker noticed her hesitation. “I was on my way to fetch you, and I fell down an open shaft. A property owner’s negligence at its finest. I’m so sorry you were left out there, in the rain, the cold—you might have been abducted.” This was said in a slightly elevated tone. Journalists scribbled, and the attorney beamed, while Riot tightened his grip on his walking stick.
He waited to see what Sarah would do. She moved slowly towards her uncle, clearly made uncomfortable by the audience. She offered her hand in greeting, and Walker took it warmly.
“Mr. Riot saw that I was well taken care of, sir.”
“And I’m indebted to him for it,” Walker replied. There seemed to be truth in his words. He spoke with real feeling, likely due to dealing with a well-known private detective rather than a run-of-the-mill policeman. Far better for the newspapers.
“Call me Uncle Lee, won’t you?”
Sarah nodded. “Will your arm mend?”
“The doctors say so, but I’ll be laid up, and there’s my head, you see. There’s still gaps in my memory.”
“Losing memories of bad things might be a good thing,” Sarah said, with a gravity that surpassed her tender age.
The reporters chuckled, and her uncle laughed. Riot could only silently agree. Three years had passed, and there were still gaps in his own memories. He didn’t want to know what happened. He feared to know, because it would only confirm his growing suspicions.
“I suppose so,” Walker agreed. He winced again, and looked suddenly tired, lids drooping, eyes fixed on Sarah. It was a dramatic performance. “You bring back so many fond memories of my sister. She died a terrible death, and you being left all alone—except for my mother.”
“How’d her mother die, Mr. Walker?” a reporter asked.
A cool kind of rage charged through Riot’s veins. He stepped forward, and placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “You look as though you could use some rest, Mr. Walker. We don’t want to tax your recovering mind. I’ll see to it that Miss Byrne is looked after until you recover. If that’s agreeable with you, Miss Byrne?”
Sarah backed up, moving closer to Riot, giving a silent but clear answer.
“Of course,” Walker said. “You’re right. I’m thankful for your kindness.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“Goodbye, Uncle Lee.”
“Give your ol’ uncle a kiss on the cheek now.”
Riot felt the girl’s hesitation, and promptly gave her a way out before she felt forced into politeness. “Movement, Mr. Walker,” he reminded, slipping Sarah’s arm through his. “It’s best you stay immobile.” He gently steered the girl away from her only kin, the mob of reporters, and one elated attorney.
“What did you think of your uncle?” Riot asked.
Sarah’s head was turned away from him as she looked out the window of the rattling hack. “I wasn’t expecting all those others.” Her voice was nearly lost in the racket of springs and wheels.
Riot waited.
And as if lured by his patience, she looked away from the window, and turned towards him. “Maybe if I could speak to my uncle alone. Why did his accident attract so much attention?”
“The man who owns the property is wealthy,” Riot replied. “Your uncle is suing him for negligence.”
Sarah’s brows drew together with concern. “Are my uncle’s injuries bad? The doctors say he’ll live, right?” Here was a
child who had already experienced loss. She well knew the precarious perch of the living.
“I’m told he’ll make a full recovery. Although memory loss can be… It can take longer to recover.”
“I suppose he’s lucky he wasn’t hurt worse.”
“Very lucky,” Riot said dryly.
The girl didn’t miss his tone. She frowned, weighing matters that no child should have to contemplate. Her black hair was still in braids, and her dress was a child’s, but she was already pushing at the boundaries of womanhood. Clean, fed, and well-rested, she looked like a proper young lady. However, the green smudges on her stockinged knees hinted at a child underneath the facade.
“You don’t like him,” she stated plainly. She was a sharp one, too.
Riot regarded her. There was no use denying it; not to her. And he suspected that she felt the same. She was only looking for permission to feel that way.
“I’ll be frank with you, Miss Byrne. I’m not entirely sure your uncle is of the best character.”
A girlish laugh escaped her lips. “Of course, he isn’t, Mr. Riot,” she said with practical Southern politeness. “He ran off to the circus. Mamma always said that you can’t trust such folk. She called him the black sheep of our family to her dying day, and for as long as I can remember everyone told me that I wasn’t to have anything to do with him.”
“Do you know why he ran off?”
“I do not. Do you know?” There was worry on her face. The way she sat, the way she’d seemed to shrink when she asked the question. It was one that she had no doubt been asking herself the entire train ride across the country.
“No,” he admitted. “And that concerns me.”
“I don’t know what I expected.” There was a tremor in her voice. “But it wasn’t that. I didn’t much like him either. He seemed…” She shrugged.
“He seemed to be putting on a show?”
Sarah nodded. “A bad one, but he’s the only kin I got left.” Tears shimmered, but did not fall. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes, and clenched her teeth.
Ravenwood made an impatient noise. This isn’t your affair.
The voice was so real, so urgent in his mind. He could see that shadow of the man turn his back on the child—as he had done so many times when faced with a distraught client. Always an unmistakable signal for Riot to take the reins of an interview.
Riot reached over, and took both of her hands in one of his. “Sarah,” he said her name softly. He waited until she met his gaze with misting eyes. “I’ll do everything in my power to see that you don’t end up in an orphanage.”
When the hack pulled up to Ravenwood manor, the front door opened. Tobias skipped down the steps, and hurried over to the window.
“Get off my hack!” the hackman snarled, raising his whip.
“Strike him, and I’ll strike you!” Riot barked.
Sarah jumped with surprise, and Tobias hopped backwards off the carriage, scrambling out of range. Riot quickly opened the door and stepped down, staring hard at the driver as he helped Sarah out of the hack.
“I don’t tolerate niggers in my hack,” the hackman growled.
“And I have no tolerance for bullies.”
“You’re lucky the lady is there, fellow.”
“Indeed.” Riot flipped the man his fare, but no more. With a hand on each child’s back, he ushered them up the stairs towards the house.
“There’s a visitor for you, sir,” said Tobias. “Says he’s a friend of yours. Been waiting this whole time.”
“Does this friend of mine have a name?” As they walked up the steps, Riot noticed a man lurking by a lamppost. It wasn’t Mr. Fry, and most of the other reporters had been at the hospital for the meeting. The man was casually smoking, unhurried and unconcerned.
Riot paused on the steps, and stared across the street at the stranger. When he saw Riot looking, he tipped his bowler. Wearing a ready-made suit with mustache and long sideburns, the man was the type that blended in with any crowd.
The complete opposite of Riot’s visitor. As soon as Riot stepped into the entryway, a familiar face rushed out of the sitting room. He wasn’t wearing his Sean Murphy disguise, or Madam de’Winter (she had taken a retreat to France after her abduction), or the foppish Paris in an electric-blue, velvet suit. No, Lotario was dressed in a bespoke suit today. And from the cut and quality of tailoring, it could only be from Steed and Peel—Riot’s own tailors.
Riot looked at him in question.
“Just me, today,” Lotario smoothly supplied.
“Ah, may I present Miss Sarah Byrne.” Riot made introductions.
Lotario took her gloved fingers. “A pleasure, Miss Byrne. You know how to make an entrance in this city. You’ve barely set foot in San Francisco, and your name is already in the papers. Only a very few can claim that distinction.”
Riot cocked his head, marveling at the man’s range of voice. Today, it was even and smooth, not quite deep, but not high either. A carefree tone that was all charming humor.
Sarah smiled. “I assure you it wasn’t intentional.”
“Ah! A natural talent, then. How is Mr. Riot treating you?”
“He’s a fine host.”
“Without a doubt. And how do you find our silver city?”
“I’ve hardly seen it.” Her disappointment was plain.
Lotario clucked his tongue. “That will have to be fixed. Patience, I’m told is a virtue, but I’ve never found it very fun.” Lotario gave Riot a pointed look.
“It never is,” she agreed.
“I was kept waiting for ages in that sitting room. Have you ever been locked in a sitting room?”
“We didn’t lock you in,” said Tobias indignantly.
“But you were spying on me,” Lotario said.
“You were juggling teacups,” the boy retorted.
“Goodness, no.”
“And then knives.”
“Your story gets more fanciful by the second. Next you’ll be claiming I was jumping on the furniture.”
Sarah giggled. And Tobias darkened. “You were.”
Riot cleared his throat. “If you will both excuse us, I need to speak with Mr. Amsel.”
Tobias spluttered, and Lotario plucked a coin from the boy’s ear. He rolled it over his knuckles before flipping it to Tobias with a wink. A gasp of delight came from Sarah, but before the children could beg for more tricks, Riot ushered Lotario into the sitting room. He grabbed both doors, and looked hard at the children. “I’ll know if you try to eavesdrop.”
Both of them blushed, and hurried towards the kitchen as he slid the doors together.
“What a charming young lady. She reminds me of myself at that age.”
Riot paused, and turned to meet the other half of the two-headed chameleon. And just like that ever-changing creature, Lotario transformed from charm to a high-strung thoroughbred about to bolt.
“Did Bel stop by?” Lotario asked.
Riot drew him away from the doors, to the opposite side of the room. This house had sprouted very inquisitive ears.
“Yes, she did.”
Lotario glanced at Riot from under his lashes. He was waiting for something.
Riot took a gamble. “I see you talked with her.”
Lotario deflated. “You know,” he breathed with relief.
“I agree, it’s worrisome.”
“Worrisome? I’d say it’s terrifying. She should have told you straight away, but she was worried about you. You, of all people. Never mind that she was attacked on the dunes by three men. Being hog-tied, beaten, and kept in a basement for a day couldn’t have been enjoyable, even for my twin.”
Riot swallowed down a cool rage.
“Bel hides her fear well, you know, but I’ve never seen her so frightened. The threat of a chun hung on your head rattled her.”
It took effort to keep his voice steady. “As well it should,” he said.
“I’m more rattled by the possibility of one on her head
,” Lotario said. “I hope you weren’t angry with her for not telling you right away. She panics, and bolts. And she has an awful protective streak. Always has. Do you know whenever I was bullied, she’d jump into the fray and take the beating for me? I hated it. And I loved her for it.” As Lotario prattled on, he unclasped a leather carrying case. “That’s why I’m worried. She tried to hide this…” He yanked out a shirt and waistcoat that had seen better days. “I found it while I was cleaning up her cabin.”
Riot took it, moved a vase aside, and laid the garments out on a table. The outline of a boot print was clear, but his eyes were drawn to the blood stains, and the perfectly sliced buttons down the front. He had wondered why she’d kept her peacoat on, and why it had been buttoned clear to the collar in the heat of the room.
“Do you know anything about this? She said they only kicked her…” Lotario’s voice rose a notch, close to Madam de’Winter’s perfect soprano.
Riot held up a hand, stopping the man. “This might not mean what you think.”
“How on earth can you be so calm?”
“Because I have to.”
“But I’m sure she’s gone off to look for the girl the men were after.”
Riot wanted to demand the whole story, but he worried Lotario would seal up like a clam when he realized Isobel hadn’t told Riot a thing. So he continued his bluff. “Bel may be foolhardy, but she’s no fool. Her guard is up now.”
“She shot a man point-blank, and he didn’t even slow,” Lotario reminded. “What good is her guard when a revolver is useless?”
“I intend to find her first.”
“I’m coming with you, then.”
“No, you are not,” Riot said firmly. Lotario started to protest but he cut him off. “I need you to do something for me so I can corner your twin.”
“How are you going to find her?”
“The same as I always do.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to escort Sarah around San Francisco. She’s traveled all the way from Tennessee, and I think it only fair that she see the city.”
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